


Malfoy's Patented Daydream Scheme

by idreamofdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daydreaming, F/M, Fic Exchange, Hogwarts, Humor, Mild Smut, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Potions, Potions Class, Romance, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamofdraco/pseuds/idreamofdraco
Summary: An unexpected attraction to the manager of the new Hogsmeade location of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes inspires Draco to stake his own claim in the business of daydreams.Winner of the Most Humorous, Best Banter, and Best Dialogue awards in the DG Forum's Summer 2017 Fic Exchange.





	1. The Blast-Ended Skrewt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keeperofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthemoon/gifts).



> Written for Noelle (noeycat07/Keeperofthemoon0) in the DG Forum's Summer 2017 Fic Exchange. Winner of the Most Humorous, Best Banter, and Best Dialogue awards. Noelle's prompt will follow at the end of the first chapter. Thank you so so much to EvShadow/tinyyellowdragon for beta-ing!!

**Chapter One: The Blast-Ended Skrewt**

The crisp sound of dried leaves perishing underfoot followed Draco as he and Neville passed through Hogwarts' gates. Neville plucked at the scarf thrown loosely around his neck, securing it to protect the lower half of his face from the frigid chill that had descended upon the Scottish countryside. A grimace curled around Draco's lips, regret forming all over his body as gooseflesh. What a day to forget his scarf on the coat rack by the door.

The two men stopped behind a group of fifth years huddled together as they waited for an available carriage to whisk them away to Hogsmeade.

Rebecca Toogood, an abysmal potions student due to her predilection for lovelorn gazing, looked over her shoulder and jumped at the sight of two of her teachers standing nearby. She turned back to her friends, her voice lowered in hushed whispers as she warned them of the unnoticed threat. Titters broke out among the group, interspersed with not-so-surreptitious glances and giggles.

Draco, used to the antics of his teenaged charges, merely rolled his eyes when Neville elbowed him and grinned.

"A thought, Longbottom," Draco said as a carriage pulled up to the gate. He kept his voice conversationally low, directing it at his colleague, which of course meant Toogood and her friends listened with more intensity. "If children these days paid as much mind to their studies as they did to the tabloids, we'd have a school of geniuses."

Neville elbowed him again, this time in warning.

Toogood and Co. hurriedly climbed into the empty carriage, faces pink in mortification, and slammed the carriage door closed before Neville and Draco could join them.

"They're just kids," Neville said, his voice muffled behind his scarf. "It's not their fault we're the youngest on the staff."

"It wasn't you they were chirping about."

Neville rolled his hazel eyes. "You get named London's most eligible bachelor and now you think everyone's after you. I see how it is."

"Everyone _is_ after me. The sooner you figure that out, the sooner you save yourself from the disappointment of constant rejection."

"Excuse you. Last I checked, I was the one getting laid regularly."

"Crude, Longbottom. I didn't know you had it in you."

Despite his forwardness, the visible parts of Neville's face that hadn't already been flushed from the cold heated further, and Draco, a true debaucherer, could just imagine the thought that had crossed innocent Neville's mind, much too crass to utter aloud.

Distaste crossed Draco's face, and he was relieved to see another carriage pulling up the lane, just in time to save him from this humiliating conversation. 

They were quiet on the ride to Hogsmeade, the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the carriage wheels flooding the silence between them.

To an outsider, Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom might have looked like friends. Colleagues, certainly. Acquaintances, of course. But friends? Upon closer inspection, a vein of dislike spread between them, pulsing a little too closely to a heart of loathing, as evident in the stiffness of their bodies, the care they took to avoid each other’s gazes. The truth was, Hogwarts could be a lonely place for two twenty-two year olds. They weren't much older than the students they sometimes taught, and they had to be careful to keep an appropriate distance between themselves and the student body. But they were decades younger than the staff, who had watched them grow from children into rebels and war criminals and then into apprentices. Their position in the castle was tenuous and strange. Transitory. Limnal. A little mythical as well. The students were well aware of the parts Neville and Draco had played in the war, and Draco could see that knowledge in their eyes every time they looked at one of them.

In a way, that damn Bachelor of the Year article had given Draco a reprieve from hatred and morbid curiosity.

Draco and Neville only had each other, but the fact that they alone understood what it was like to apprentice under a Hogwarts teacher was not enough to bond them together in friendship. They were kindred, not kin. They tolerated each other and did their bests to forget the animosity of their youth, but it was difficult when the faded Dark Mark continued to linger on Draco's arm and Godric Gryffindor's sword sat in a case in front of the Headmistress' desk. They would never forget who they had been to each other and what they had done a mere five years ago.

Still, when the carriage stopped and Draco and Neville stepped out of its cozy warmth onto the high street of Hogsmeade, they nodded to each other and converged on the Hog's Head, preferring the dingy establishment over the Three Broomsticks, which was sure to be overrun by students. They fought the wind funneling down the street in an overpowered gale, and by the time they reached the pub, Neville's hair stood on end while Draco's remained immaculate as ever.

Feeling rushed back into Draco's fingers, so quickly his hands burned from the sensation, and without waiting for Neville, he hurried to the bar and ordered a firewhisky.

"Malfoy, it's barely noon."

"Quickest way to warm up."

Neville shrugged and ordered himself the same. He claimed the stool next to Draco and unwound his scarf, purposefully ignoring Draco's pointed gaze until he snapped.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just wondering if I've rubbed off on you over the last few months."

"Gross. Full offense, but you're not my type."

Heat bloomed across Draco's face. "I wasn't—I didn't mean—" He closed his mouth and gathered his words together to stop himself from sounding like a blubbering idiot. "What do you mean I'm not your type? Bachelor of the Year—that means I'm everyone's type."

Neville snorted and downed his drink in one go. "Ohhh, that does hit the spot, doesn't it?"

“What’s so funny?” Draco asked, heated. “What’s wrong with me? What is it about me that isn’t your type?”

A different voice entirely, coming from behind Draco and Neville, answered. “Why do you care what Neville likes?”

A grin broke out across Neville’s face as he cried out, “Ginny!” and pulled the youngest Weasley into a one-armed hug.

She laughed and hugged him back, and both of them launched into a series of inquiries at once, each talking over the other as if competing in a contest to see who could answer the most questions before the questions could even be asked.

Draco stared at the two the same way he would have stared if a Blast-Ended Skrewt had crawled through the door just then. In fact, Weasley favored the eponymous explosion for which the unsavory Skrewt had been named. Her hair shone in shades of orange, the exact same color as the flame sparked to life by the inscrutable Skrewt’s back end.

Draco did a double-take, eyeballing Weasley from head to toe and back up to her head to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. Her hair wasn’t her only bright and orange feature. For some reason (though Draco would attribute her choice to her lack of taste), she had donned the most hideous robes Draco had ever laid eyes on. Putrid orange material burned his retinas, and Draco feared the color had forever been seared into his brain.

While he’d been staring, the Skrewt in question had turned her scrutiny on him, amusement lifting the corners of her mouth.

“I didn’t realize you two were friendly enough to go for drinks together.”

“We’re not,” Draco and Neville said at the same time, both with the same level of vehemence.

“Malfoy’s apprenticing under Slughorn. We, er, associate out of necessity.”

“I see,” Weasley said, her amusement growing—to Draco’s chagrin. “It’s a necessity to drink at midday with student’s around?”

“Do you see any students here?” Draco asked, gesturing at the unseemly patrons of the Hog’s Head Inn.

“That’s fair. I’ll give you that one.”

“What about you?” Neville asked. “What are you doing here?”

Clearly all the talking over each other had had the detrimental effect of not being informative in the slightest.

Weasley twisted her torso and pulled at the material of her visually rancid robes, displaying a patch. “I manage the new Hogsmeade location of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

Neville smiled in delight. “I thought Hogsmeade looked a little more orange than usual! I’m sure the students are glad to have a joke shop in the village again.”

“Filch not so much, I bet,” Weasley said with a wink.

Draco downed the rest of his firewhisky to try to drown his irritation at Weasley’s arrival. “If you’re going to chat each other’s ears off, why don’t you sit down?” he asked, his words full of sarcasm.

Weasley had the audacity to turn her smile on him with a mischievous, insincere glint in her eye that Draco did not like at all.

“How very kind of you for extending an invitation, but I just came in to pick up lunch. Jules will kill me if I leave her alone for much longer. It’s the first Hogsmeade weekend since we’ve opened, and the shop has been busy all day.”

“It’s noon,” Draco muttered.

Weasley’s eyebrow arched. “Pardon?”

“When you say ‘all day,’ you give the impression that you’ve been working an entire day, but it’s noon, so you’ve only been open a couple hours. Hyperbole isn’t becoming.”

Neville was staring in bewilderment, which Draco promptly ignored, instead choosing to nurse the second glass of firewhisky the bartender had just slid down the bar into his outstretched hand.

Instead of bristling at Draco’s pedantic correction, Weasley grinned ever wider, _amused_ by Draco’s sullen antics.

“Oh, thank you for setting me straight, Malfoy. I see that Bachelor of the Year title has swelled your head with falsified importance.” She turned back to Neville, dismissing Draco before he could respond. “We should have dinner or drinks sometime now that we’re neighbors!”

Neville’s face lit up in excitement. “Are you staying in Hogsmeade, then?”

The bartender placed a takeaway bag on the counter, which Weasley took in hand. “Yes. Finally moved away from home! I’ve taken a flat above the shop.”

“Excellent,” Neville replied. “You should come up to the castle for dinner one night. I’m sure Minerva won’t mind.”

“I’d love that. Owl me next week and we’ll work something out.” She stopped in the process of turning to the door to give Draco an assessing glance. “Nice seeing you, Malfoy.”

He grunted in response and downed his second glass.

The orange blur of her had barely disappeared from view before Neville rounded on Draco, leveling a wide-eyed stare at him that required no verbal question in order to be interpreted.

“Stop looking at me like that, Longbottom.”

“That was unnecessarily rude, even for you.”

Draco shrugged and stared into his empty glass. He had reached his favorite threshold of alcohol consumption, the one that involved tingly shoulders and numb cheeks. He poked one of his cheeks now and released a small giggle at the odd, muffled sensation of it.

Neville’s alarm increased, his eyebrows disappearing into the line of his hair, or possibly floating above his head, in shock.

In the middle of contemplating another drink, Neville shook his shoulder. “Seriously. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“She’s irritating is all,” Draco said, shrugging out from under Neville’s touch. “I’ve gone nearly three years without setting sights on a Weasley, let alone talking to one. She had to be the obnoxious one to break my lucky streak.”

“She’s just a woman, no different from any other.”

And Draco tried to convince himself that that was true, but the orange of her hair, those robes, was burned into his memory. He saw her even when he closed his eyes. The shimmer of blonde amongst the ginger of her hair that stood out even in the dim pub lighting, the mischief and amusement in her dark eyes, the freckles that dusted across pale skin. Obnoxious, irritating, garish bint!

Draco did manage to convince himself of one thing, and that was a third firewhisky. Neville merely shook his head in exasperation as the drink came sailing down the bar into Draco’s waiting hand.


	2. Catalogues

**Chapter Two: Catalogues**

Draco had forgotten Neville’s invitation to Weasley until two weeks later when she showed up to the Potions classroom in the middle of a lesson.

The door opened, drawing the attention of the Gryffindor and Slytherin first year students and interrupting Draco’s lecture on Hiccupping Potions. Weasley stood in the doorway with a beaming McGonagall until Slughorn jumped up from his desk where he was supervising the lesson and beckoned them in.

“Oh, Miss Weasley! How very long it’s been since I’ve seen you last! Look, class, Miss Ginevra Weasley was one of the members of my Slug Club. She was an exceptional Potions student if I recall correctly—”

“He doesn’t,” Weasley said to the class with a good-natured smile.

“Well, nevertheless, I do remember your magnificent skill with Bat-Bogey Hexes, and, children, you see before you a veritable war hero!”

Gasps and _oohs_ and _ahs_ erupted around the classroom, and Draco made a scoffing sound that went unnoticed. These students had barely been six years old when the war ended. What did they even remember of it? 

“Enough of that,” Weasley said, rolling her eyes at the class as if sharing a good joke with them. “I’m a simple shopkeeper, that’s all.”

Slughorn’s proud grin faltered. “A, er, what was that?”

“I run Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade. Here, I brought catalogues!” Weasley dug into a bag hanging off her shoulder and pulled out a stack of pamphlets, which she divided amongst the students to pass around. “We take orders by owl, you know!”

At this proclamation, McGonagall’s smile also failed her, and Draco, who had just a moment ago been annoyed at being interrupted and ignored, smirked, relishing in the Headmistress’s pain.

“A shopkeeper you say? I spoke specifically with Gwenog about your prospects as a Harpy.”

Finished passing out catalogues, Weasley returned to Slughorn and McGonagall’s sides at the front of the classroom. “Oh, I did try out, but I decided I wasn’t passionate about playing Quidditch professionally. I’m really happy working with my brother in the family business.”

Slughorn shook off his disappointed frown quickly enough. “Yes, well, I hear Mr. Weasley’s shop is more popular than ever, so I, er, commend you on your achievements together.”

Having worked closely with the Potions master every day for the last few months, Draco could tell Slughorn was not quite as impressed with Weasley’s achievements as he wanted everyone in the room to believe, but Weasley hardly seemed to notice or care. Her indifference to Slughorn’s opinion improved Draco’s own opinion of her, but her inane decision to forego fame and glory in the form of a Quidditch career with a prestigious team made him question her executive function.

As the class’s murmurs grew into excited chatter and the sound of pages turning, McGonagall cleared her throat. “Well, we should be going now, I think. There are still plenty of others to visit. Miss Weasley will be joining us for dinner this evening, so you will have plenty of time to catch up then.”

Slughorn grunted and returned to his desk, where he had been marking essays before Weasley’s arrival. He seemed to have no more interest in his former student now that he understood her lack of aspirations, and Draco was positively delighted in her abrupt exit from the exclusive club to which Draco himself had been denied entrance years ago. Unfortunately for Draco’s glee, he doubted Weasley cared one whit for the honor—or the removal thereof.

The door closed behind the headmistress and her precious former student, and Slughorn waved his hand at Draco. “Continue, Mr. Malfoy.”

His former delight withered away instantly when he realized Weasley had waltzed in and riled up his class before summarily departing once more. After two whole minutes of futile attempts to bring the students back to attention, he finally waved his wand and confiscated every last WWW catalogue from their grubby hands, which earned him a classroom full of “Awwwww!”s that did nothing to sway him.

“As I was saying before our guest arrived,” he ground out, teeth clenched in impatience, “the main ingredient in the Hiccuping Potion requires special preparation in order for this cure to be effective….”

* * *

True to McGonagall’s word, Draco was cursed with Weasley’s presence at dinner. He noticed her as soon as he walked into the Great Hall, registering first the carroty color of her hair and second her location.

“This is my seat,” he said as he loomed over her from behind, arms crossed in an uncanny impression of his previous mentor, Severus Snape.

“Is it?” Weasley didn’t even turn away from her plate. What a cow. “Neville said you wouldn’t mind.”

“I can’t believe Longbottom would ever say something so categorically untrue. I do mind. I mind everything.”

“Yes, he might have touched on how uptight you are about certain things.” She shredded the meat on her plate and mixed it with her vegetables before shoveling it all into her mouth as if Draco’s presence was inconsequential to her.

His temper began to flare, heat rising in his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

With her mouth engaged in the process of mastication, she said over her shoulder, “If you’re going to chat my ear off, why don’t you sit down?” And then she winked at Neville, who fought to stifle his laughter with a mouthful of dinner roll.

Draco’s stomach grumbled then, and that was the _only_ reason he took a seat, using Neville as a buffer between him and Weasley. It wasn’t because she’d told him to. It wasn’t because he was fascinated by the shine of her hair, like a Niffler sniffing out gold. It wasn’t that vexing smile she shared with Neville, one full of secrets and amusements and jokes of which Draco could not take part. There was absolutely nothing compelling about Ginny Weasley. He was simply hungry.

“Ginny and I were hoping you could settle a debate for us,” Neville said, oblivious to Draco’s foul mood.

Weasley nodded. “Yes, could you confirm whether or not the abdominal muscles heavily featured in the photographs that accompanied your Witch Weekly article are real or edited?”

Draco’s mouth gaped open, the serving spoon in his hand forgotten and dripping onto the table.

Weasley continued as if she hadn’t said anything outrageous at all. “Neville insists they’re fake, but I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt. I do admit they look much too good to be true.”

Heat blazed through his body, forging a path to every extremity until Draco wished he would just catch fire already and take the rest of the school with him.

Weasley had seen his photos. But of course she had. What woman in the United Kingdom _hadn’t_ seen those photos? Ever since the article had been published, Draco had been inundated with correspondence from women across the country. Even his own mother had seen that blasted story!

But the idea of Ginevra Weasley perusing a copy of Witch Weekly in a bored fashion, stumbling across a half-naked photo of Draco attempting to smolder at the reader, and stopping in interest did more than set him ablaze. It made his imagination run wild, which was an all too dangerous pastime.

How long had she stared at those photos? Had she read the article? How many times? What had been her initial thought upon reading his interview? Did she laugh at his highly edited photographs?

Neville bit his lip to repress his laughter. “I think his lack of an answer is an answer in itself, don’t you?”

Weasley looked at Draco, her brown eyes assessing as she scanned him from his head to his waist, the only parts of him visible over the table. “Hm, I don’t know about that.”

A shiver shot down his spine under the weight of her gaze, and as if someone had tapped his knee to check his reflexes, his immediate response was to stand.

Bugger dinner. Draco fled.

* * *

The stack of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes catalogues Draco had confiscated yesterday sat in an orderly stack on the corner of his desk, taunting him with their brightly colored and animated lettering.

In the middle of the room, three cauldrons sat bubbling on top of a workbench, multi-hued steam mingling in the air and giving the office a smoky, suffocating atmosphere. Compared to Slughorn’s office, Draco’s was basically a closet converted for his use to mark assignments and conduct the research necessary as an apprentice.

He was supposed to be marking Hiccuping Potion essays, and usually he enjoyed slashing his students’ work to pieces with his favorite red ink of doom, but today he was distracted by the timers ticking the seconds away until he needed to complete the next stage of brewing three different potions and the catalogues enthusiastically urging him to peruse their contents.

He tapped his quill as he reread the same sentence three times without making any sense of it, and then finally tossed the quill down with a disgusted grunt. It was the incessant ticking that ruined his concentration, not his idle curiosity about WWW’s wares. He hadn’t been inside a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes shop in years, though he had reluctantly enjoyed the creativity of the products he’d found inside (not that he ever would have admitted such a thing; he’d disparaged the store when around his friends so as not to give the Weasleys too much credit).

The cover of the catalogues featured cartoonish children, a boy and a girl, tossing sweets into their mouths. A moment later, the girl transformed into a giant, wide-eyed weasel while the boy laughed at her misfortune. Another moment later, the boy’s tongue began to lengthen, growing until it exceeded the boundaries of the catalogue’s edge.

He flipped through the pages, looking for he didn’t know what, but stopped to watch the animated images to see how each product worked. Most of the featured items were inane and immature: hats and scarves that made heads disappear, fake hands that grabbed people who drew too close, sweets that turned their imbibers into animals and distorted body parts for laughs. Some of them were clever. Draco was all too familiar with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and the accessories enchanted with Shield Charms were obviously quite useful if one expected to be assaulted at any moment.

As he turned pages, his eye stopped on a selection of explosively pink products that Draco remembered seeing before but had never paid much mind to. He sneered at the WonderWitch brand of love potions and makeup products, at the idea of lovelorn teenagers like Rebecca Toogood and her friends purchasing such items to woo the object of their affection. The amusement died away in an instant as he remembered _he_ was the object of Toogood’s affections. He frowned as he made a mental note to be more aware of his food and drink around that particular group of students.

His attention was next captured by an image of a, er, robust man with a swooning woman in his arms while roses bloomed around them.

_Patented Daydream Charm_

_Romance at the tip of your wand!_

_One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens._

Draco snickered to himself. What kind of lonely, pathetic person would buy such a thing? 

A ringing startled Draco as the first of his timers went off, and he silenced it with a wave of his wand as he stood to attend to his potion. As he stirred, counting out the strokes of his stirring rod, half of his mind couldn’t stop thinking about those daydream charms. Then he began to measure out Moondew for his next potion, the timer for which rang just as he’d completed the stirring step of the first potion. His thoughts drifted to the magic involved with the daydream charms, automatically turning to the puzzle of how to achieve the same effects with a potion instead. The third timer rang, and he attended to the last potion, adding six ice cubes to the concoction to bring it down to the correct precise temperature before the mixture boiled over.

Certainly he could make a daydream potion to rival Weasley’s daydream charm? Perhaps he could extend the longevity of the magic to last for an hour? Or perhaps he could fashion a sleeping draught that would allow a person to dream for a whole night?

By the time he’d finished with the potions and set new timers for each of them, Draco was determined to try his hand at daydreams. The Weasleys couldn’t be the only ones with a stake in the dream economy!

He returned to his desk and flipped to the back of the catalogue to fill out the order form for a variety pack of Patented Daydream Charms, giving a false name so Weasley would be none the wiser to Draco’s sabotage. After he mailed the form off, he’d have a word with Filch that evening about letting his package through the screening process.

And with those distractions out of the way, Draco retreated to his desk and back to the task of marking essays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Patented Daydream Charm description that Draco reads in the WWW catalogue is pulled from Half-Blood Prince. Reviews appreciated!


	3. Daydreaming

**Chapter Three: Daydreaming**

The daydream charms arrived promptly two days later, delivered by carrier pigeon in a discreet package that all the same made Draco’s face burn at the breakfast table upon its arrival.

Neville eyed the package and then glanced at Draco before looking away swiftly, as if to avoid Draco’s impending wrath.

“What?” Draco ground out between clenched teeth.

“Nothing!” Neville replied, his voice falsely innocent.

“Just say it.”

“I wasn’t aware you owned chickens is all.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what do you need a chicken-bathing kit for?”

Draco closed his eyes as the next words came out of his mouth. “I thought Hagrid’s chickens looked a little muddy.”

There was no way Neville believed that codswallop, but the man nodded his head as if this was a reasonable explanation. “I don’t suppose you plan on giving the baths.”

“No one else could possibly do it better than I could.”

“Of course,” Neville said before lifting his orange juice to his lips and ending the conversation.

Draco had two lessons to teach that morning, and then he secreted himself away in his closet office, locking the door securely behind him. A piece of parchment, a quill, and a well of ink awaited his notes as he took a seat and retrieved one of the charms from his desk drawer.

He glanced at the instructions one more time and then opened the box and pulled out a scrap of paper that read:

_Classmate, partner, friend, then lover.  
Passion in the classroom shall be discovered!_

Draco rolled his eyes, but he gripped his wand and repeated the ridiculous incantation out loud. He’d expected a gradual sleepiness to overcome him, but, instead, he was immediately shoved into a daydream, the transition from his office to a student’s desk in a generic classroom far too subtle for Draco’s liking. He hardly felt like he was dreaming at all.

He took in his surroundings through narrowed eyes, unsettled by the familiar and yet glaringly wrong setting. Hogwarts and its classrooms were constructed of stone, yet this room had wooden floors and tall windows that emitted a plethora of light and looked out onto an empty plain—not the Forbidden Forest or the Black Lake. Sunbeams slanted into the room, illuminating motes of dust that danced like flaky snow through the air.

Radiating in the early evening glow, spotlit specifically by the sun’s rays, Draco was perplexed to find Ginny Weasley sitting in the desk to the right of him. To be so bold as to feature her inside the daydream charm, either her brother’s sense of humor had gone moldy or her ego (and ethics?) had inflated over the last few years.

She scratched at some parchment with a quill, her brow furrowed and her lips puckered in concentration. Draco’s attention caught on her mouth until she looked up and noticed him staring, prompting him to quickly turn away, but not before he saw her smile at him.

Weasley leaned toward him, her shoulder brushing his. “Trying to copy my notes, Malfoy?” Her voice was low, nearly whispering, and she threw a glance at the front of the classroom where a woman who vaguely matched Minerva’s description sat dozing in her desk chair. Students sat in desks around them, heads bent over textbooks and quills scribbling against parchment.

Draco didn’t answer her, instead keeping his head turned away. What in the world was he supposed to do now? What script was he supposed to follow?

In the few moments that had passed since entering the daydream, the atmosphere of the room had begun to change. At first, Draco had not noticed a difference between the dream and reality, the setting feeling all too real to him, but as he observed his surroundings, he began to notice how the light cascading through the windows gave the dream a hazy quality. The heat from that light, from Weasley pressing herself against Draco, made the air a little thick. Not oppressively hot, but comfortably so, like snuggling under a heavy blanket for a post-lunch nap.

“Don’t act shy now!” Weasley said, her voice lowering further. Maybe he imagined her breath against his cheek, but when he turned back to check he found Weasley too close. Her hand wandered under the desk to his knee, and she glanced at the teacher again, just to make sure she was still unconscious to the world.

A wave of heat surged through Draco’s body, starting at his knee and quickly drowning the rest of him in flames.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice cracking on the word ‘want’ like a pubescent boy.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Her eyelashes fluttered, drawing him into her eyes, which, he was fascinated to notice, were the exact same color as his favorite broom’s handle, as brown and multihued as the wood he polished on a weekly basis.

Draco choked on that thought, his cheeks burning. He’d never polished his broom while thinking of _her_ of course! She was such an obnoxious waste of blood purity and talent and attractiveness—No, wait! That wasn’t what he meant to think!

“I want you...” Weasley said, her attention drifting downwards, possibly to Draco’s lips, which he suddenly fought the compulsion to lick, “...to pass that jar of ink, please.”

And then before Draco could comprehend what she’d said, she reached over him, using his knee as leverage to snatch the little jar sitting on the desk next to Draco’s left hand. His heart was still pounding when she pulled away and returned to her own desk, leaving Draco feeling bereft and confused. He looked around the classroom for some sign of what to do, until Weasley’s voice startled him, interrupting his examination.

“Don’t you have your notes with you?” she asked, her eyebrow arched.

“No.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Well, I suppose I can let you copy mine. We are partners after all.”

“We are?”

“How else would you explain your good marks in Potions if I weren’t your partner? We’ve been sitting next to each other all term. I’d think you’d remember a little fact such as that.”

Draco shook his head, remembering what Weasley had said in Slughorn’s classroom. “But you’re terrible at Potions.”

Weasley’s cheeks reddened, and she readjusted her parchment, gathering the pages together in a neat stack. “I _was_ terrible at Potions until you began tutoring me. Here.” She handed Draco all of her notes plus some blank parchment and a quill.

“What about you?”

She waved her hand as if to brush away his concern. “I have a Transfiguration assignment I can work on in the meantime. Just return my notes before dinner so I can prepare for tomorrow’s exam.”

Weasley pulled a textbook out of her bag and engrossed herself within it, leaving Draco to puzzle over their current scenario alone. Apparently, in this universe, he and Weasley shared a Potions class, they were Potions partners, and he tutored her in the subject in their free time. At no point during their conversation had she shown him any scorn or derision. She seemed not to expect it from him, either, which suggested they worked well together. Maybe even liked each other. His face warmed at the thought, though he wasn’t sure why.

He looked down at her tidy handwriting and appreciated how organized she kept her notes. They were easy to read and follow, reminding him a lot of his own note-taking style. He picked up the quill she’d given him and reached over to dip it in the jar of ink on the edge of her desk. She turned her head slightly to smile at him before returning her attention to her own assignment, and the heat in Draco’s face blossomed throughout the rest of his body once more.

A swirly pink fog filled the room, and suddenly Draco jerked upward from an undignified slouch, back in his office. Using his sleeve, he wiped at drool drying in a trail from the corner of his mouth and said out loud to his bubbling potions, “That was it?”

The exclamation did not adequately describe Draco’s feelings about his experience. On the one hand, the plot of his daydream had seemed a little too simple compared to the adventure that was advertised. On the other, the dream had felt so real. Draco’s heart was still pounding, so ferociously it seemed to be seeking an exit from his rib cage, and his body was still overly warm from embarrassment and want.

_Want!_ No, he didn’t want Ginny Weasley! He was experiencing a natural reaction to close proximity to a female body. That was all. But if that was so, why, then, was Draco kicking himself for not daring to take the dream further? Why, then, could he still feel a pressure on his knee, as if someone had placed their hand there just moments ago? Why, then, did the memory of her smile make his stomach lurch and his heart flutter?

Frustrated with the very real physiological effects of the charm, Draco threw himself into writing down every detail of the daydream for his review later. Then he stood up and stretched, checked his potions, retrieved the rest of the daydream charms from his desk drawer, and retreated to his quarters.

He needed to make himself a little more comfortable for this task.

* * *

Two hours later, Draco collapsed into his armchair as if he hadn’t already been sitting in it for the duration of four more daydreams.

He was exhausted, his body taut with strain, his limbs trembling.

Every single daydream had been about her. Every single one had featured red hair through which Draco was desperate to run his fingers; brown eyes that made him think of polishing firm, cylindrical objects; a mischievous smile that drove him crazy because he wanted to be included in her jokes. It didn’t matter what kind of illustration adorned each charm’s box. Each dream only vaguely matched the packaging’s theme, and Ginny Weasley was the star of every fantasy.

Part of Draco was convinced he’d been sold faulty merchandise, and part of him was eager to order more daydream charms just to see if Ginny Weasley appeared in all of them.

He couldn’t even say he hadn’t enjoyed the dreams because, simple plots and horrible taste in love interests aside, Draco had to admit they’d accomplished the goal for which they’d been manufactured. Each daydream had felt realistic, not just because it had been difficult to tell them apart from reality, but also because whatever magic was involved in them made voyages on pirate ships and arctic tundra expeditions feel like plausible life experiences.

He felt exhausted, not only because of the unresolved sexual tension (the daydreams had sparked Draco’s interest and imagination, but they had all been innocent enough in nature—frustratingly so), but also because of the adrenaline pumping through his system, urging him to go to Weasley at once and invite her on a globetrotting tour of the world’s wonders.

He felt like he could do anything.

But the only thing he wanted to do right now was to tackle the puzzle of creating a daydream potion. While he was at it, mightn’t it be beneficial to figure out how to lengthen the duration of the dreams, too? Purely as an academic conundrum to be solved. Draco himself had no interest in immersing himself in hours-long daydreams.

That’s what he kept telling himself anyway.

* * *

He didn’t notice he’d forgotten to eat dinner until nearly nine. His stomach twisted painfully, reminding him that he’d missed lunch as well. The thought of entering the Great Hall, of facing Minerva and Neville as if he hadn’t spent all afternoon daydreaming about their favorite pupil and friend, made Draco recoil in humiliation. There was no earthly way he was going to face Neville after what he’d done. The Herbology apprentice was bound to see everything in Draco’s face, especially if Weasley became the topic of conversation.

No, instead Draco donned his cloak, scarf, and gloves for a sprightly trek to Hogsmeade. As he had hoped, the brisk November breeze cleared his head and cooled his blood as soon as he stepped foot outside the castle, but by the time he reached Hogwarts’ gates, his teeth were chattering with enough ferocity to shatter, so he Apparated into the village to forego completing his journey on foot.

He passed the Three Broomsticks without a glance, preferring the Hog’s Head’s poor selection of liquor over more standard fare at the cleaner pub. Draco would never have admitted it to anyone, least of all Neville, but Draco did not have a refined palate despite growing up consuming the best food and drink money could produce. Why bother spending two Galleons on name-brand alcohol when he could get just as drunk—or more so—drinking something similar for ten Sickles? It just wasn’t economical, and, frankly, the luxury was downright wasteful, in Draco’s opinion.

Humid warmth enveloped Draco as he entered the Hog’s Head and unwound his scarf. The establishment was surprisingly deserted, except for a familiar redhead sitting alone at the bar. Draco’s stomach sank, and for a moment he considered absconding to the Three Broomsticks after all. He’d gone through all this trouble to avoid talking and thinking about her, so he should definitely leave before she noticed him. Any minute now he was going to open the door and take a step back into the frigid cold. He was a mere moment away from fleeing the pub the same way he’d fled her presence three days ago, the same way he’d fled Hogwarts half an hour past.

Eyes locked on the bright spot that was Ginny Weasley’s hair, Draco inexplicably drew closer, his legs moving of their own accord. He certainly hadn’t given himself permission to approach her. He could have sat anywhere else in the pub—there were plenty of dark corners for him to claim—but he went to her as if he couldn’t help himself. Maybe after an afternoon of close encounters of the Weasley kind he wanted to make sure that this encounter was not, in fact, a daydream as well.

She didn’t look up from her dinner when he sat down, but she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. And then she smiled, surprised but pleased by his presence.

This had to be a dream, then. Weasley would never look pleased at Draco’s arrival, except in a universe of Draco’s own making.

“Well, look who it is,” she said, her voice warm, warm enough to thaw the rest of the biting cold clinging to Draco’s body.

He didn’t know what to say, and thankfully the bartender placed Draco’s usual glass of firewhisky in front of him, giving him a reason not to respond anyway.

The searing heat of the alcohol combined with Weasley’s own warmth and the sultry interior of the pub left Draco boiling in his skin. His cloak and gloves joined his scarf in his pocket a moment later, shrunk and stowed until he needed them again.

“You left in such a hurry the last time I saw you,” Weasley said.

“I had projects I needed to keep an eye on.” He averted his gaze to hide the lie and considered one of the day’s specials listed on a chalkboard behind the bar for his evening meal. Once he’d decided and given his order, then he looked at Weasley again, bracing himself for—well, he didn’t know exactly.

His reaction was just the same as in his daydreams: a racing heart, the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears, the pulse in his neck jumping, an all-consuming heat overcoming him like a severe fever he’d suffered when he was eight. The fever had faded eventually then, and it began to fade now, giving Draco the false impression that he had regained his composure around Weasley. And then her lips quirked into an amused smile, the same one she’d constantly used with him since their reunion in this very pub three weeks ago, and Draco was struck by that smile, drowning in dizzying fever once more. His composure most certainly not regained, but obliterated.

He realized she had been speaking to him while he had been choking on his pounding, enflamed heart, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry, say that again?”

Weasley’s lips twitched. “I said, we didn’t get to finish our conversation.”

“Which one was that?”

She waved her hand airily. “You know, the one about the authenticity of your Witch Weekly photos.”

Draco scowled. “Look, those photos and that article were not my idea. I should never have agreed to such a ridiculous—” A plate of food was set in front of him, and he immediately dug in, ravenous. A moment later and with a full mouth, he continued his tirade. “A decent population of the student body has deluded themselves into thinking they fancy me, and it’s horrible because they romanticize every little thing I do. If I scold them for wasting ingredients in class, they swoon. If I write snide remarks about their intelligence on their essays, they imagine I’ve written them love letters. If I happen to stand too closely, they find ways to sneakily put their hands on me. Did you know I’ve resorted to placing a Shield Charm on myself every morning, just so no one can get near enough to accuse me of touching them back?

“And that’s just the students! You should hear what the teachers say when they think they’re alone in the staff room! And the titters from biddies that follow me down Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Three months ago everyone loathed me, and now that they’ve seen enhanced—and most certainly fake—photographs of my naked torso, they imagine me fanciable. Never mind the Dark Mark on my arm or the year I spent in prison!”

By the end of Draco’s rant, Weasley’s amused smile had dimmed, her brow furrowed in thought as she considered him. But he could see something there in her eyes, something that could not be deterred. He had not turned her off from the idea of him. In fact, he seemed to have intrigued her more.

He gulped at the sight of her expression and reached for the second firewhisky the bartender had been kind enough to serve preemptively. His fingers grasped at empty air because Weasley had stolen his drink right out from under him.

She raised his glass in a salute and knocked it back, wincing at the path of fire forging down her throat and into her belly. That had been Draco’s fire, dammit!

“Forgive me,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse from the alcohol. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

She departed before Draco could protest. It annoyed him that his first instinct was to stop her, but as soon as she was out of sight, he had no choice but to admit how much he had actually desired her company.


	4. Customer Service

**Chapter Four: Customer Service**

For the next few days, Draco took his dinners at the Hog’s Head, all the while telling himself that he was _not_ hoping to run into Weasley again.

His last encounter with her must have been a fluke or his imagination. He’d been on edge because he’d spent that entire afternoon thinking of her, so maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that she’d been there at the pub, almost as if waiting for him. He had started to believe some magical residue from the charms had created an hallucination of her in the real world, bringing a daydream to life.

If he had convinced himself that the encounter hadn’t happened at all, why, then, did he find himself stepping inside Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes one sunny afternoon at the conclusion of his lessons?

The shop was surprisingly busy for a weekday, but there seemed to be just as many pre-Hogwarts children tugging exasperated parents around the shop as there were unaccompanied adults. Draco would have sneered at the immaturity of full-grown adults frequenting such an asinine shop if he wasn’t one of those customers himself. Though he had no intention of purchasing anything this visit, he couldn’t deny the hypocrisy of judging someone else’s shopping habits when he had bought items from this store himself recently.

 _That was in the name of research!_ he told himself.

He scoffed. “Yeah, sure, Draco.”

“I’m sorry?”

He spun around, confronted by those excruciating orange robes and the red hair to go with them. In the midst of the blinding mess were brown eyes that produced a flush in Draco’s chilled cheeks.

“You,” he said, not deigning to explain himself.

“Me,” Weasley replied, a grin flitting to her lips and staying there.

Draco didn’t say anything further, instead distracted by her mouth and all the things it had said and done inside his fantasies. He gripped his hands into tight fists at the memory of that mouth warm against the corner of his, not quite bestowing a real kiss, but rather an innocent tease of one. It had been so _real_ ; how could it not have happened?

Weasley’s brow arched, her expression dubious. “Can I help you find something?”

“No, I’ve come to make a complaint,” he heard himself say, though that had not been the reason he’d stepped foot in the shop. In fact, now he couldn’t remember exactly what had motivated him to venture inside.

“Were you unhappy with a purchase?”

This she said with a disbelieving roll of her eyes, as if the thought of Draco patronizing her store should be as absurd to Draco as it was to her.

Draco drew himself up but glanced around him to see if any of the other customers were paying them any mind. Convinced of their privacy in the middle of the sales floor, he continued. “Yes, actually. I purchased a variety package of the Patented Daydream Charms, and every one of them was faulty.”

If he’d expected laughter, it didn’t come. Weasley’s brow furrowed in concern, and she took a step closer to him as if finally taking him seriously. “What was the problem?”

“Well… you see—It’s just that—What I mean to say—The charms—”

Weasley leaned in, her voice lowering. “Would you prefer to speak about this privately?”

Draco could only nod because he was struck dumb by how _good_ she smelled. Whatever shampoo or perfume she used was floral and soft, not an assault on the nose, but a pleasant scent that made Draco think about tumbling in a field and pinning Weasley to the ground while wide-eyed sunflowers hovered over them and gawked.

He nodded with more enthusiasm, this time in approval of the ridiculous fantasy that had just crossed his mind. But he couldn’t help his body’s reactions to such thoughts. It had been such a very long time since Draco had participated in a horizontal tango. Even Neville Longbottom was getting laid by someone.

“All right, then. The shop closes up at seven. Why don’t I meet you at Hogwarts afterwards to discuss your problem?”

Without giving Draco a chance to demur, she jumped back into the fray of customers, her customer service smile as bright as her robes. Maybe even brighter.

* * *

Draco spent the rest of his afternoon in a state of anticipation. Why, he hadn’t the slightest idea. He just knew he hadn’t had the concentration to tackle his newest project, and had almost forgotten his old ones bubbling away in the center of his office. Only when one of the cauldrons sent liquid sparks into the air in warning did he jump to attention and attend to his ongoing research. He passed the rest of his hours listlessly marking his students’ assignments, with considerably less acerbic commentary than usual, and pacing, which nearly drove him mad because the length of the longest wall in his office spanned only ten strides. Hardly enough distance for him to get his thoughts in order before turning around.

As seven neared, Draco returned to his quarters and checked the tray of edibles the house-elves had provided at his request. Weasley had sent an owl along earlier, and he reread her note to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood the circumstances of their meeting:

_All right if I Floo directly into your rooms?_

He’d replied in the affirmative, his pulse racing at the thought of Ginny Weasley sullying his living space with her presence, hair shining, floral scent invading.

_Great. See you at 7._

Too late now. She was set to arrive any minute. There wasn’t time to cancel the meeting anyhow.

Promptly at seven, the fireplace flared to life with green flames, and Weasley stepped onto the hearth. She’d exchanged her work uniform for Muggle attire that did wonders for her figure in that it did little to conceal the shape of her. Denim conformed to her thighs and hips, and the shirt she wore was just a little short, meeting the waistband of her trousers but revealing a thin sliver of skin at her stomach when she moved. Draco had never appreciated Muggles and their awful clothing more than he did now.

They stood in silent awkwardness until Weasley finally looked away, scanning the sitting room in curiosity.

“So this is what the teachers’ quarters look like.”

Draco loathed small talk, so he gestured to the sofa. “Won’t you sit?” She did, and Draco sat next to her, avoiding the armchair adjacent. He didn’t want to think about the daydreams he’d had while sitting in that particular chair, instead lifting the teapot from the tray the house-elves had left for them.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

He was abundantly aware of her staring at him as he served her. The air felt thick around them, and Draco’s pulse began to pound slowly but insistently in his throat. Her teacup clattered against its saucer as he passed it to her, his hands shaking as he recognized this feeling, this atmosphere, as similar from the daydreams. Her eyes only lowered when she took a sip, and Draco sighed heavily, as if her gaze had belayed his breath.

She set her tea down and flipped open a notebook sitting in her lap, lifting a self-inking quill she’d tucked inside.

“So what happened with the daydream charms?”

Draco nearly choked on the biscuit he’d just stuffed in his mouth and quickly swallowed more tea to wash it all down and prevent him from embarrassing himself by choking to death. He cleared his throat and wished he’d spiked his tea with firewhisky instead of milk.

But he would not be cowed by her, would not embarrass himself by displaying humiliation. He was Draco Malfoy, London’s most eligible and previously most hated bachelor. He had no reason to be afraid of a Weasley.

“What happened?” he repeated with a sneer. “What happened is that every single daydream featured you.”

She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him, her cheeks staining with color. And when she found her voice, she stuttered, sounding, for the first time since their reacquaintance, unsure of herself. “E-excuse me?”

“There must have been some mistake,” Draco continued, bolstered by her bewilderment. “I can’t imagine you have a big enough ego to charm yourself into your own product that way, and I can’t imagine your brother doing so, knowing that teenaged boys and adults would be fantasizing about his sister.”

He’d been pleased with her shock, but it faded before the end of his explanation, the expression evolving into something that made Draco’s stomach flip, her eyelids lowering in a hooded gaze that set his blood to boil. Somehow, in the span of seconds, she had regained her equilibrium, and the corners of her mouth twisted upward in slow amusement.

Draco’s face heated. Was she laughing at him now? She hadn’t thought the idea of him purchasing daydream charms was funny, but her starring in them was? Maybe he’d been wrong about the Weasleys’ ethics. Maybe she and her brother weren’t above virtually prostituting her image for money.

“The charms worked just as they were supposed to,” she said, lips curled in satisfaction.

“Oh?”

“You see…” She leaned toward him again, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The magic used to make the charms is weak, non-binding. The words in the incantation and the artwork on the packaging are just suggestions. If there’s a better fantasy in your head, a stronger one, that’s what you will dream about.”

Draco thought he understood her, and the blood rushed out of his face as he tried to piece together his comprehension. “So you’re saying—”

Weasley placed her hand on Draco’s knee, the same knee she’d touched in the first daydream.

“I’m saying I wasn’t programmed into the charms. _You_ are the one who put me in them. Your wants, your desires, your ultimate fantasy.”

He stared at her hand, at the neatly trimmed fingernails painted an appalling magenta color, at the contrast between her skin and her nail polish against the material of his forest green robes.

“Oh,” he said because he couldn’t think of anything better to say. No snide remarks, no explanations. He had none. He had been faced with a truth he’d been denying for days, perhaps for even longer than he could fathom, and he couldn’t lie or sneer or insult himself out of it because Weasley now knew the truth, too. 

She took the cup and saucer out of his hands, discarding them onto the coffee table, and then she did something that made Draco’s brain short-circuit. Without utilizing his Occlumency, his mind cleared of all thoughts, going as blank and empty as he imagined the Weasley family’s bank vault in Gringotts.

No longer did she occupy the space on the sofa next to him. Now she was straddling Draco, and all of his blood ran south at her sudden proximity.

“What are you doing?” he asked, the words coming out choked as he forgot for a moment how to breathe.

“What’s it look like?” Weasley replied, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’m making your fantasy come true.”

Her mouth covered his, and Draco was glad that he’d forgotten how to think because he probably would have ruined this with his customary insults. Instead, he sat back, pulling Weasley closer to him, reveling in the feel of her fingers in his hair, the weight of her in his lap, the warmth of her, which so reminded him of his favorite cheap alcohol.

Good thing he wasn’t capable of thinking at the moment because he might have called her a cheap drink out loud, and then he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn the feel of her tongue against his, her breasts against his chest, their pounding hearts beating as one.

She overwhelmed him to the point that he didn’t even notice when she began unbuttoning his robes. One moment her hands were clenched in his hair, the next they were caressing the expanse of skin she had bared. A shudder wracked his body as she brushed his nipples in her explorations.

A vital part of him awakened under her ministrations, and he rolled his hips against her core, a groan slipping out of his throat as she pressed a line of kisses along his jaw.

Her whole body froze, and she pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, searching his face for some unknown answer. Their breaths came out in little puffs between them. Draco had a difficult time controlling his reaction to her; he trembled from head to toe, inundated with sensations that he couldn’t process. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed surprised for some reason but otherwise composed.

Draco had to close his eyes as she smoothed his hair back away from his face and then slid her fingers down his cheek before climbing to her feet. Her absence submerged Draco in cold air and reason. He hadn’t comprehended what had happened until she’d distanced herself from him, and even then, bewilderingly, all he wanted to do was draw her back to him, cling to her, pin her to the sofa, and never let her leave.

That thought alone forced Draco to stiffen his muscles until his shivers ceased.

Weasley smiled at him, but there was something strained about it. “I should go. I’m sure you’re busy with your work, and I still have to attend to some of mine.”

“Of course,” he replied. He stood up and adjusted his robes to hide his physical reaction to their snog session. “Thank you for taking the time to check on that issue for me.”

“Anytime.”

They were both startled to realize that she meant it. He saw the truth of it in her wide eyes, the way she licked her lips, how her gaze flitted down to his mouth and back up again. Yes, it was good customer service to address any issues a customer might have with her products, but if that customer service involved snogging Draco again, she was willing. And so was he.

She left in a flash of green flames. Left Draco bereft, half-hard, and concerned.

“Damn,” he said to his empty room. He was attracted to a Weasley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favorite chapter in this story. *cackles* Next chapter we'll get some of Ginny's POV!
> 
> Reviews appreciated!


	5. Invitation

**Chapter Five: Invitation**

At a young age, Ginny had mastered the art of ignoring her twin brothers. There were probably only a select number of people on the planet who possessed the skill. When they sought attention, Fred and George were difficult to ignore, and no one could even fault them for it because they were fun and charismatic. People wanted to be included in their jokes and pranks (which was infinitely preferable to being pranked _by_ them).

Even without Fred, George was no less annoying when he chose to be, and Ginny, for the first time since she was nine years old, couldn’t muster up the concentration needed to properly tune him out.

“Did you submit the order for Extendable Ears? What about the Snackboxes? This shelf looks a little empty. Don’t you think you should restock it before lunch? What have crowds been like? What were the most popular items Hogsmeade weekend? When are you going—Ginny? Are you listening to me?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said under her breath.

George turned around with his arms crossed over his chest, which managed to produce a little contrition in Ginny.

“I’m sorry, George. I know this is important.”

He pulled a step stool over to the window, where Ginny was dusting and rearranging the display. “Sit down. What’s up?”

How could she tell her brother she was thinking about Hogwarts’ resident Potions apprentice? She knew he’d spent the last couple months listening to his employee Verity gush about Malfoy’s Witch Weekly article in the Diagon Alley store. Honestly, who hadn’t discussed that article since its release?

Ginny had laughed at George’s agony every time Verity brought up Malfoy, but ever since she’d read the article (and seen those photos) for herself, she’d harbored a secret morbid fascination for London’s most eligible. As reprehensible as he’d been at Hogwarts, it was difficult not to think of him in a different light after seeing him in a state of undress, even if she was now aware that his abs had been edited in later.

Meeting him again had not deterred her fascination. Teasing him had been too much fun, and she found herself unable or unwilling to leave him alone.

And then he’d admitted to fantasizing about her, and Ginny hadn’t known what to think. Kissing him had seemed like a natural progression of events. A man admitted he fantasized about her, she returned his interest, a spark flared between them, and suddenly—BOOM! Next thing she knew they were snogging.

George pursed his lips and rubbed his chin when Ginny didn’t answer him. “Hmmm, is it the shop? An angry customer, maybe?”

“No, the shop is fine. The customers have been great.”

“It’s a man, then. Or a woman?”

Ginny’s face heated. “Why does it have to be about my love life at all? Maybe I didn’t sleep last night! Maybe I haven’t eaten all day!”

He grinned that mischievous grin that he and Fred used to share when they ganged up on unsuspecting victims. “I can’t comment on your sleep habits, but I watched you eat breakfast this morning, so I know it’s not that. And who said anything about your love life? I asked a very vague question, and you’re the one who brought romance into it.”

Ginny couldn’t even be mad at him for the trick, but she was stubborn enough to deny the truth anyway. “You and I both know very well that my love life was implied.”

“Do we though? I think you’ve got love on the brain.”

“I have not!”

The bell above the door chimed as someone entered the shop, and Ginny shot to her feet, an automatic smile brightening her face as she turned to greet her customer.

The smile melted as soon as she saw that familiar platinum blond head and those piercing, unsatisfied gray eyes.

Teasing him had been effortless before she found out about her role in his fantasies and before she’d felt his erection press against her. Now she had to fight her desire to push him out the store and slam the door in his face. He was still a customer and George was watching.

“Hello, Malfoy. Having trouble with your daydream charms again?” Her cheeks burned as soon as she spoke. Her last attempt to help him with his daydream issues had been fresh in her mind for days, and she wondered if Malfoy had obsessed over it as much as she had.

“No, no. I just came to purchase some more. I thought it would be easier to come myself rather than wait for Filch to paw through my mail.”

He took a circuitous route to the Patented Daydream Charm display, winding around tables and shelves that put him at the furthest distance from Ginny and George.

As she turned her attention back to the window display, she glanced at her brother only to find him staring back at her, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in thought.

“What?” Ginny hissed.

He simply shook his head and gestured for her to continue her work.

The silence in the shop was thick with tension as Malfoy examined the various boxes of daydream charms, Ginny dusted a display that had already been dusted, and George rocked on his feet while twiddling his thumbs.

Ginny honestly wasn’t as shocked as she should have been to learn that Malfoy’s fantasies of her had overridden the daydream charms’ magic. Male appreciation was not new to her. She had always been popular with guys, even going back to her days at Hogwarts. But even after he had unknowingly admitted it outloud, she hadn’t expected him to _actually_ fancy her.

Then her whole worldview seemed to change when she made him fall to pieces under her.

The sound of his groan as his hips jerked against her had been ingrained in her head since that night, following her to bed and into her own dreams. It had never crossed her mind that Malfoy would allow himself to desire a Weasley. It had never crossed her mind that he would allow her to desire him back. The realization that he would have let her have her wicked way with him—that he might have even welcomed it, poor blood traitor that she was—had startled and confused her.

She was still confused when Malfoy indicated he was ready to check out and Ginny went to the register. George was watching, and Malfoy was staring, so she didn’t lower her gaze as she wanted to. Instead, she met Malfoy’s stare head on, and in his neutral expression, she found the ability to smile at him, her lips quirking upwards in amusement at their absurd situation.

Maybe the most absurd thing about it was that it wasn’t absurd at all. Perhaps none of this should have shocked her. If it had been anyone else but Malfoy, Ginny might have steered those kisses down an even more amorous path, finishing what they’d begun. She might not have run away on the pretense of being busy at work.

Ginny rang him up, punching the keys on the register and depositing his money in the drawer without ever looking away from Malfoy. When she returned his change, he grabbed her hand, holding it captive.

“I thought about it some more after you left, and I may not have used the daydream charms properly to begin with. Perhaps you could give me a demonstration sometime when you are free?”

No expression crossed his face that could easily identify his intentions, but Malfoy’s thumb stirred over her hand, stroking her skin, and a shiver raced down her spine even as she began to burn all over. His touch hypnotized her, drawing her to him though they stood still.

“Yes,” she said, speaking as softly as he had. “I might be able to fit you in after work.”

His lips stretched into the smirk Ginny remembered well from school, but when the corners of his eyes crinkled, that smirk shifted into something like a smile, something foreign yet delightfully attractive. He released her hand and reclaimed his change.

“My Floo will be open for you,” he said before he left.

Ginny continued to stand behind the counter, staring at the door through which he’d just left even after he’d long gone. Her thoughts raced as she replayed the interaction and considered what was in store for her that night.

A throat cleared, and Ginny jumped, her head turning so fast a cramp developed in her neck. “George!”

“Yeah, I’m still here. Did you forget about me while you and Malfoy were mooning over each other?”

“We weren’t mooning over each other!”

“There was a disturbing amount of tension as soon as he walked in the shop. It was clear to these two eyes of mine that you two were either trying not to kill each other or trying not to jump each other. Unfortunately for me, I had the bright idea to listen in with a pair of these ingenious Extendable Ears, so I have a good idea which one it was.”

An Extendable Ear was unapologetically shoved back into his pocket. Then one eyebrow arched as he waited for her to deny his claim once more, but Ginny couldn’t fake her blush, and her ability to lie to him was as malfunctioning today as her ability to ignore him.

“Fine! You were right, okay? I’ve had a man on my mind.”

George shook his head. “Malfoy, of all people?”

“I am not talking to you about this!” Ginny stormed into the office and grabbed a box of Canary Creams to replenish a wiped-out shelf, distracting herself and attempting to drown out her brother with work.

George merely rolled his eyes. “Don’t think I won’t send him a Nose-Biting Teacup as a warning, because I will!”


	6. The Climax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smutty bit in this chapter. If you'd prefer to read a less graphic version, you can check out the story on FFN.

**Chapter Six: The Climax**

Ginny had devoted the rest of her day to the store and reassuring George that everything was running smoothly. Of the twins, he had always been a little less laid back, the one who had thought things through and planned after Fred had come up with their schemes, so it didn’t surprise Ginny that he was so critical of the job she was doing. Fred and George had been two halves of a whole; they’d worked in tandem, thinking the same thoughts without having to say them aloud. Ginny might have been family, and George certainly trusted her with his business, but it would take a little longer for her to convince him it was in good hands.

Assuaging George’s fears had been a needed distraction, but after he’d gone and after she’d closed up the shop, Ginny had finally allowed herself to think about her meeting with Malfoy. Her stomach fluttered at the memory of his low voice requesting a demonstration of the daydream charms, knowing the request had merely been a pretense.

Hadn’t it?

She’d run a brush hurriedly through her hair and discarded her work robes for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and by the time she threw a handful of Floo powder into her fireplace, her heart was pounding in anticipation.

Malfoy was waiting for her when she stepped out of the Floo, a tray of tea and food sitting out on the coffee table once more. He uncrossed his legs and stood up as she dusted herself off, a hand reaching for her to help her out of the fireplace as he said, “You came.”

“You asked me to come, didn’t you?” Ginny said, smiling. Malfoy stood frozen, his gaze intent on her and her hand trapped within his grasp. A hint of pink stained his cheeks, which she attributed to the amber liquid in the glass that sat next to the tea service.

“Yes, of course,” he said, finally letting Ginny go to gesture for her to sit. He indicated the armchair, not the sofa on which he had been awaiting her arrival.

Ginny’s smile grew. Maybe the flush in his face had less to do with the spirits he was consuming and more to do with his constitution. Seeing him nervous made Ginny more bold, and the anxiety she’d harbored and ignored most of the day evolved into an excitement that settled in her stomach. She wasn’t sure that she had ever seen Malfoy cautious like this. It made her wonder if he had regretted his smooth demeanor in the shop earlier that day and now wished for distance, or maybe he had exhausted the extent of his charm.

Ginny ignored his pointed gesture at the armchair and took a seat on the sofa, her knee just brushing his.

“Would you like a drink? Tea?” he asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Ginny plucked his glass off the coffee table and took a healthy sip as he watched her, eyes wide in shock before a smile of appreciation curled along his lips.

Ginny coughed on her sip and smacked her chest. “Seriously, what is this? Dirty water?”

His smirk made Ginny reconsider stealing his glass and wonder at the contents of it. “It’s the Hog’s Head’s finest brew, which of course means it’s pure shite.”

“You drink this stuff regularly?”

He shrugged. “Whatever gets me drunk as quickly as possible.”

“Is there a reason you’re trying to get drunk now?”

His smirk faltered, and though Ginny didn’t expect an answer, she was surprised to receive one.

“The Hog’s Head’s bartender calls that particular brew Liquid Courage, and I thought I’d be in need of it tonight.”

In the silence that met that statement, Ginny looked at Malfoy—really looked at him. He dressed immaculately, from the style of his hair (slicked back, just as he’d worn it as a student at Hogwarts) down to his shoes (shined to a high polish). The dusk gray robes he wore flattered his figure, even while sitting down. Silver embroidery accentuated the seams along his shoulders, drawing the eye to the breadth of his frame. A high collar and long sleeves should have made him look stuffy and severe, but instead they gave him a distinguished appearance. The effect must have been intentional considering he taught students not much younger than him and he required their respect in the classroom.

In comparison, Ginny was a raggedy mess in her rumpled Muggle clothes and smudged makeup. She took another gulp of Liquid Courage before setting the glass aside and meeting Malfoy’s eyes.

“Am I safe in assuming you need no demonstration of the daydream charms?”

Somehow, his eyes seemed to darken. “Yes.”

“Fantastic,” Ginny said, and then she grabbed Malfoy and pulled him close enough to kiss.

This time he responded immediately, his hands going to Ginny’s waist and yanking her into his lap. She pressed him into the back of the sofa, closing the distance between their bodies so that she felt his every breath and every beat of his heart.

Ginny’s blood pounded in her veins, sending the alcohol shooting to her extremities until her shoulders began to tingle, either from the effects of half a glass of cheap spirits or his kisses. Most likely both.

It was startling how well they fit together, how right it felt to occupy his lap, to have his hands on her, the taste of him on her tongue. She didn’t protest when his mouth dragged down her neck and his nose nudged the material of her T-shirt aside. No, there would be no protestations on her part. She encouraged him by grasping a fistful of hair, not to tug him away or shove him down, but to hold on, just to let him know she needed that anchor, otherwise she would float away like smoke escaping a chimney, like bubbles rising to the surface of a glass of champagne.

Her body turned into liquid as his hands burrowed underneath her shirt and found skin, searching for his own anchor until he found it in her breasts. Warm fingers trailed over her bra, teasing her with light touches she could barely feel through her undergarments.

“Yes,” Ginny said as her head fell back. “I’ve been thinking about this since I saw those photographs.”

He had shoved her shirt up to her neck at this point, and he stiffened and spoke against the sensitive curve of her breast. “You’ll be disappointed then, I’m afraid.”

Mischief danced in her eyes. “Only one way to find out.” 

She pushed Malfoy away from her, both of them groaning at this new distance. Malfoy’s groan turned into something a little more guttural when Ginny began unbuttoning his robes, but he sat back, his hands loose on her waist as she unclothed him, pushing his robes off his shoulders to bunch at his waist, hindered by his sitting position and Ginny residing on his lap.

She eyed his chest and ran her hands over him, watching in fascination as the muscles in his stomach jumped, and a laugh burst out of her, causing Malfoy to tense.

“What?” he bit out, the word more of a bark than a question.

“You said those photos were edited!”

“They were.”

“I assumed that meant you didn’t have a chiseled torso.”

His brow creased in annoyance. “I don’t.”

“Malfoy,” Ginny said, mirth dripping from his name, “what do you call this, then?” She tickled his abdominals, enraptured by the flutter in the muscles there. Under her, a certain part of him began to make its hardening presence known.

“Those photographs were exaggerated! They’re a caricature of my body, not a true likeness! They even erased my Dark M—”

The laughter of their exchange died just as the phrase died on Malfoy’s tongue. He didn’t have to finish his sentence; Ginny knew exactly what he was talking about.

At his trial after the war, she had seen for herself that Malfoy had been branded with the Dark Mark—Malfoy had even mentioned it at the Hog’s Head a few days before—but years had passed since the trials. Malfoy had kept quiet and stayed out of the press. And then he’d earned the prestigious title of Bachelor of the Year, and Ginny had been so distracted by his shirtless photos, she’d completely forgotten his skin wasn’t supposed to be as flawless as Witch Weekly’s photographer suggested.

Strangely enough, the thought of the Dark Mark did not turn her away. It should have. Malfoy’s slip of the tongue should have been a reminder of who he was and what he’d done. Instead, Ginny found her hands traveling up to his shoulders, down his arms, to his wrists. She jerked his left arm forward and twisted it until his forearm was visible, and Malfoy let her do it. He didn’t try to snatch his arm away, didn’t try to hide what couldn’t remain hidden.

There it was on the inside of his forearm. Not sick and black, as she’d thought it would be, but slightly puckered and pink, like a scar. Honestly, it only stood out because he was so pale. With a different complexion, it might not have been noticeable at all.

“Well,” Malfoy said, voice flat, eyes flat, everything about him shuttered, as if anticipating a tropical storm and seeking shelter within himself. “Does this change anything?”

She climbed off his lap and didn’t fail to notice him flinch. Then Ginny pulled him up with her, his unbuttoned robes falling to the floor, leaving him in his boxers and socks and shoes. Before he could flee, she reached for the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head, dropping it on the floor. Just as she’d done at the shop earlier that day, she never broke eye contact with him, rooting him to the spot.

His gaze flickered down to her breasts and back up, as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do and feared offending her.

That brought a smile to Ginny’s lips, amusement washing over her at his typical male reaction to a half-naked woman. She took his left hand again and placed it on her breast. “No,” she said. “It changes nothing.”

Malfoy’s face lit up—that’s the only way Ginny could describe it. A grin overwhelmed his expression, clearing the lines in his forehead, erasing the stubborn brackets at the corners of his mouth, smoothing his features until he looked younger and more carefree than she’d ever seen him. Certainly this was the least curmudgeonly he’d looked to her since running into him and Neville in the Hog’s Head last month. Ginny was nothing short of startled by the difference in him and intrigued by his reaction.

When Malfoy lifted her from her feet and whisked her off to the bedroom, all she could do was laugh, infected by his sudden and unexpected joy. He placed her on his bed and stepped back, toeing out of his shoes and socks with boy-like urgency.

Ginny would have liked a moment to look him over, to compare the reality of Draco Malfoy’s body to his photographs, but Draco climbed onto the bed before she could voice an objection. She had no objection anyway. As he stretched out over her, his mouth reattaching to hers as if Summoned, she couldn’t help but approve of his physical proximity. The feel of his body pressing her into the bed, the weight of him, the warmth—

Yes, much more preferable to looking at a few photographs.

Large hands traced the outline of her with gentle caresses that drove Ginny mad. In contrast, she dug her fingers into his back, reveling in his hiss when her fingernails bit a little too fiercely into his skin. Instead of withdrawing, he got the message and became a little less gentle, a little more demanding.

For instance, one moment Ginny was wearing a bra, and then her bra was mysteriously missing, Vanished without a sound, without a wand. Her gasp brought a smirk to his lips, but only until his mouth descended upon her puckered nipples in a selfless gesture to warm them with his tongue. A laugh and a groan escaped Ginny’s throat, her hands coming up to clutch his head, pulling him closer, begging him for more with her wanton sighs.

Ginny’s hips rose, the juncture between her thighs throbbing and desperate for attention. A strangled moan filled the bedroom as Malfoy moved to meet the demands of Ginny’s body, his hips grinding against hers making his erection even more apparent.

“This is better than a fantasy,” Malfoy said, his eyes closed, head hanging as though overwhelmed.

Warmth flooded Ginny’s chest, and she reached up to push some of Malfoy’s hair out of his eyes, gently stroking his cheek as she considered him. Between her legs, within her arms, his whole body trembled.

“Is it?”

Eyes still closed, Malfoy nodded.

Ginny wasn’t sure what kind of lover she had expected Malfoy to be. The expression captured within his Witch Weekly photoshoot suggested a man of experience and skill. The nervousness and flushed cheeks in his sitting room revealed a man lacking both. She supposed she’d assumed he’d be greedy and rough, as self-absorbed as she’d found him to be in person. And yet she’d still accepted his invitation, knowing where it would lead. Sex was sex. It was something fun to do with an unexpected person on a cold night.

But this was something else to Malfoy. Something more. She could tell how special it was to him in the way he kissed her, lips dragging across hers with tenderness and curiosity, pulling away too soon in uncertainty. She could taste his pleasure on his tongue. She could feel his delight in his shaking limbs, in the press of his erection against her core. Not demanding. Not impatient. Just feeling sensations—that he had never felt before?

Ginny grinned. Maybe he was inexperienced, or maybe his previous encounters had been dreadful. Either way, with Ginny he was sweet and eager, and it reminded her to slow down.

“If you think this is good, just wait,” she said.

She wondered what kind of life Malfoy had lived since the war that had led him to crave this kind of love, and then she decided not to wonder—she could simply give it to him instead.

* * *

Ginny startled awake from a fragmented dream, the details of which began to fade as soon as she tried to recall them, though the mood she woke up to suggested she had been enjoying it. She took in her surroundings through bleary eyes, noting the stone walls and the male body wrapped around her with interest until the full details of the previous night returned to her.

Oh, right, she and Malfoy had slept together. That explained her sore muscles and lack of clothes.

A grin stretched across her face as she turned in Malfoy’s arms, remembering with delicious clarity how those arms had held her, pulled her close, pinned her down. Malfoy was using Ginny’s breast as a pillow, and though she loathed to take it away from him, she needed to get back home so she could shower and open the shop.

She carefully extricated herself from Malfoy’s grip and climbed out of bed, following her trail of clothes until she was fully dressed in the sitting room once more. A violent grumble in her stomach alerted her to her lack of dinner the previous night, and Ginny wondered if it was early enough to grab a quick bite from the Great Hall before anyone noticed her presence. Just in and out… If she was fast, she might not bump into anyone she knew.

There was only one other door in the sitting room besides the bedroom door, and upon opening it, Ginny found herself in what must have been Malfoy’s office, if the desk was any indication. In front of the desk and occupying the most space sat a large workbench, on top of which three cauldrons simmered. She approached them and peered inside each cauldron, stopping to read the notes Malfoy had left sitting out next to the third cauldron.

_Try Sleeping Draught recipe using chamomile instead of lavender to compare quality of sleep and ability to dream._

_Poppy seeds as a mild sedative to supplement chamomile/lavender, may allow for dreaming without sleep, replicating the “daydream” effect of the charm._

_Mugwart for dreaming—ground, infused, boiled, diced. Test: petals vs. stem. Research other hallucinogenic ingredients and how to use them to manipulate fantasy scenarios._

_Ginseng to reduce stress and enter daydream state? Boil for longer period to increase dream longevity?_

Ginny frowned and picked up the parchment, reading over it again. Despite Slughorn’s praise, she hadn’t been an exceptional Potions student, but she’d been decent enough to earn an Acceptable in her NEWTs. Even the poorest Potions student would be able to see that these notes suspiciously detailed the effects of WWW’s Patented Daydream Charms.

A sound at the door made her look up to find Malfoy standing just inside the office wearing some pajama trousers and nothing else. She couldn’t help but rake her gaze over him from head to toe, a flush warming her as she remembered how well that body had moved against her the previous night. Even now, the desire to lead him back to bed or shove him against a wall overwhelmed her, but she clenched her hands into fists, and the parchment crumpled slightly in her grip.

“What is this?” she asked, a note of hurt tingeing her words.

Maybe he hadn’t heard that note, maybe he didn’t recognize it, because instead of looking guilty or defensive, Malfoy’s face brightened. “My newest project.” He came to the workbench and stood on the other side of it, across from her. “I got the idea from your daydream charms.”

“Malfoy,” Ginny said with a shake of her head, “those charms are patented. Are you trying to steal my brothers’ idea?”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Steal? The charm is patented. Unless you’ve got a version in the form of a potion, I’m not stealing anything. I simply thought—”

“You _thought_? No, I don’t think you thought at all!”

He took a step back, his expression flickering before he shut down entirely, his face cool and aloof, completely unreadable.

In the wake of his reticence, Ginny waved the notes at him. “Was this your plan all along? Did you seduce me so you could get production secrets out of me and cash in on one of my brother’s most popular products?”

Malfoy’s mask cracked at her accusation, outrage leaking out as he grit his teeth and clenched his fists. “Seduce you? You are the one who seduced me! ‘What’s it look like, Malfoy? I’m making your fantasy come true!’” He threw her words back at her, twisting them in mockery, shaming her for her wanton behavior.

Well, Ginny _was_ ashamed. She’d been fooled by edited photos, what had apparently been a falsely contrite interview in a gossip rag, and a soft demeanor in the bedroom. She’d let herself see Malfoy as a changed person just because she’d found him attractive, willfully forgetting what a nasty git he was and always had been, and all along he’d been using her in order to take something that belonged to her brother. Now that she managed one of George’s stores, that meant he’d tried to take something from her, too.

She’d been an utterly romantic fool, and in her humiliation, she turned heel and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter only took so long because I was adding in the smutty bit and it was so difficult to write?? I'm so sorry. The rest of the story is finished so updates will not take NEARLY as long as this one did. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	7. Acceptance

**Chapter Seven: Acceptance**

For the next four days, Draco snapped at his students and was sullen with the staff. Even Neville, who had tolerated him in his worst moods so far, couldn’t stand to be around him and sat on the opposite end of the high table between Pomona and Hagrid rather than ruin his appetite with Draco’s foul mood at each meal.

When he wasn’t teaching or in his office, Draco stomped around the castle advertising his displeasure.

He really couldn’t fault Weasley for her reaction, which of course was one of the reasons he was angry. From the beginning, his intentions had been dishonorable. While what had intrigued him most about the daydream potion project had been the puzzle of it, how to mix certain ingredients to achieve the outcome he wanted, he would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t hoped to make some kind of money off the result and undermine the Weasleys’ product in the process. Weasley had certainly pegged him on that point.

But it wasn’t stealing if Draco developed and improved the Weasleys’ idea in a different form. As he’d said (and he’d checked to be sure), the Patented Daydream Charm was protected by patent as a charm only. The concept itself could not be patented. What did Weasley even know about patents? Draco’s knowledge was sound because his apprenticeship had included a unit on patent law from Slughorn himself. Without a base knowledge of the law, no potioneer could ever hope to protect their creations from replication by apothecaries and rivals alike.

It wasn’t Draco’s fault that he had discovered a potential need and had the means to produce a solution for it. Weasley had been way off base to accuse him of stealing the idea, and she’d been downright _wrong_ when she’d accused him of using her. Sleeping with her had had nothing to do with his project; it was simply something he had wanted to do because of _her_. Because he had thought she respected him as a person, or, at the very least, saw him as one. How wrong he’d been.

The wind whistling off the lake should have frozen Draco’s ungloved hands, but he couldn’t feel any of the bitterness that hinted at snow. His fury simmered in his veins, circulating through his system so that the frigid weather couldn’t touch him or his ire.

“Oi! Malfoy!”

Draco ignored Neville and continued his march around the lake. He was on lap number three now and no closer to cooling off than he’d been before he started.

Neville, to Draco’s indignation, would not be ignored and followed Draco, pelting him with wet rocks he picked up from the lake shore.

After six minutes of this atrocious treatment, Draco finally faced his attacker. “Will you stop that!”

“Will you?”

“What am I doing to you?”

“It’s not me! Not just me, anyway. You’re agitating the whole castle with your scowling and glaring and growling. You’ve even scared off your admirers.”

“Idiots, the lot of them! They’re just children with romantic ideas of who I am. A fantasy is all they see. If they only knew what I was capable of, none of them would admire me. They’d hate me. They—they—they would—”

His hands constricted into trembling fists at his sides, his jaw clenching so tightly his teeth might shatter at any moment.

Neville caught up to Draco and reached a hand out as if he’d planned to place it on Draco’s arm, but his hand dropped at the same time that Draco dodged his touch.

“It’s only a matter of time before everyone starts to hate me. I don’t give a damn if a gaggle of teenage girls hate me, too.”

“Hm,” was all Neville said, his brow furrowed in thought. When he made no move to say anything more, Draco turned and continued his furious walk around the lake.

Draco concentrated on the dense crunch of the wet sand and rocks shifting under his feet. His Occlumency had failed him days ago. He hadn’t been able to achieve the calm required to compartmentalize his feelings and tuck them away where he wouldn’t have to deal with them. This lakeside trek and the sound of the sand under him was as close as he’d come in the last four days to peace—that is, until Neville had ruined it with his presence.

Just when Draco had begun to think the Herbology apprentice had returned to the castle, Draco heard his voice calling out behind him.

“I think you do give a damn, you know!”

Draco stared at the ground, watching his feet displace enough sand to leave shallow footprints. He imagined Neville’s head getting trampled with each step, and that brought a sneer to his lips, his first semi-positive expression in days.

Neville jogged up beside Draco. “You do. Why else would you agree to do that Witch Weekly interview in the first place? Why would you admit you regret the decisions of your youth? Or say all those things about your apprenticeship being an opportunity to start a new life?”

“You read that fucking article, too?”

Neville ignored him. “You don’t like to be the center of attention anymore, Malfoy. That’s why you’re hiding here at Hogwarts. That’s why your post-Witch Weekly fans annoy you. So why did you do that interview unless you wanted someone to see you for who you truly are—not for who they think you are?”

Draco was flayed by Neville’s words. How in the bleeding hell did _Neville Longbottom_ of all people see that much of Draco? When had he figured it out? Draco certainly hadn’t, not until Neville had laid it out before him. Only then had Draco recognized it for the truth.

He didn’t say anything in response. Honestly, he couldn’t. But he slowed his stride, the anger leeching out of him as he thought over what Neville had suggested. He should have denied it, should have called Neville a tosser for joining the hordes of people who only had romantic notions of who Draco truly was.

How strange that Neville was the only one who knew him at all. Neville Longbottom!

They walked in silence together, Neville no longer bombarding Draco with questions and revelations, just simply being there with him while Draco sorted it out.

Finally, Draco stopped and turned his head to stare out at the lake he’d been traipsing around all afternoon without once glancing at it, circling his problem while refusing to confront it.

“Is Ginny the one who misunderstood you so badly?” Neville asked, his voice low as if trying to coax a cornered animal.

Draco’s head turned so quickly a cramp developed in his neck.

“I saw her leaving the castle a few mornings ago. She looked upset, and you’ve been in a foul mood since.”

Draco and Neville’s tolerance of one another had evolved today. Was this friendship? A step closer to it? Draco wasn’t sure, but he did know that none of this was Neville’s business. Even if the tiniest, most undetectable sliver of Draco appreciated being understood for once since the end of the war, he was in no place to confide in anyone else, especially not Neville.

“I’m done here,” he said, and he meant it conversationally and physically. He turned to go back up to the castle, Neville following suit a moment later.

* * *

Back in his office, Draco stared at the variety package of daydream charms he had yet to open as if sizing up an opponent in a fighting ring.

During the return walk from the lake, his anger had ebbed, leaving room for the cold to seep into his bones. He’d gone over Neville’s words repeatedly, looking for some other reason to be angry and finding none.

As soon as he’d stepped into his office, his eyes had landed on the empty cauldron on the workbench. His first attempt at a daydream potion had been discarded two days after Weasley’s departure, when the concoction had gone putrid from neglect. Since then, he hadn’t had the motivation to begin a new attempt, so here he was, staring at the box of charms, using his time oh so productively.

He wasn’t going to give up on this project, but he realized now how dangerous it had been not to inform the source of his inspiration of his intentions. Weasley was still in the wrong on the issue—legally Draco wasn’t stealing, and he hadn’t used her to obtain any sort of secrets—but maybe there was something Draco could do to prevent a future disastrous encounter, this time with George Weasley himself.

Draco sighed. He couldn’t bring himself to open the box and use another daydream charm. He was afraid, even as angry and hurt as he was, that Ginny Weasley would meet him in his fantasies, taunting him with an acceptance she was unable to give in person.

On his return from the lake, Draco had ruminated over things Weasley and Neville had both said, and he’d realized that the reason the daydream charms had played such simple, innocent plots was because the charms reflected Draco’s truest desires. With the ability to fantasize about anything, Draco’s fantasies had featured the object of his attraction… accepting him for who he was. They hadn’t needed to be elaborate or sexually charged (his and Weasley’s real life chemistry had plenty of sexual energy), because the only thing Draco wanted was the trust and companionship of being Weasley’s friend. All he wanted was to be noticed, to be liked, and to be recognized despite his past.

Well… maybe that wasn’t _all_ he wanted.

When Weasley had climbed into Draco’s lap and kissed him, he’d let himself consider being accepted by her. When she’d agreed to meet him at Hogwarts despite the false pretense for the meeting, he’d dared to hope. When she’d looked at the remnant of his Dark Mark and told him that it changed nothing for her—well, he’d tumbled hopelessly off a cliff he hadn’t realized he’d been standing on.

And then she’d abandoned him there to climb out of the canyon on his own. She’d proven herself to be just like everyone else because she’d believed a fantasy of him, and she’d been disappointed with the reality. No, she hadn’t even seen him in reality because she’d hopped from a positive fantasy of him to a negative one, missing the real Draco altogether.

Huffing, he shoved the box of daydream charms into his desk drawer and then rifled through his notes about the daydream potion, determined to drown his thoughts out with work. He paused at the bottom of the stack of parchment and scoured through it again. And then one more time for good measure.

A page of his notes was missing.


	8. Adaptations

**Chapter Eight: Adaptations**

Another Hogsmeade weekend meant another busy day for Ginny and her employees. After the insanity of their combined opening and first Hogsmeade weekend, she had gone ahead and hired two more employees, giving Ginny a little free time to flit around the shop helping customers personally instead of getting stuck behind a register all day long.

George had showed up to observe, but he, too, got drowned in the crowds, demonstrating products to excited third years, suggesting certain WonderWitch items to a group of giggling sixth years, and joking with the sevenths.

Around the lunch hour, they received a reprieve as students wandered off to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer and a bite. Jules took this opportunity to fetch their lunches from the Hog’s Head, and Ginny and George retreated to the office for a moment to talk while the new hires manned the shop front.

Ginny plopped into her desk chair and George collapsed onto a crate. “It’s only been a week since your last visit, George. Don’t you trust me to take care of things?”

“I promise I wasn’t intentionally checking up on you. I’ve actually got a meeting with Malfoy at one, and I stopped by to see if you wanted to come along. Of course, I came a little early so I could see how the shop was doing, too.” He winked at Ginny, and she would have rolled her eyes if her entire body hadn’t frozen at Malfoy’s name.

“A meeting with Malfoy? About what?”

“Not really sure. Some idea he’s been developing.”

She hadn’t told George that she and Malfoy had had a falling out or about the potion she’d found in Malfoy’s office. She’d thrown herself into her work after the argument, and, honestly, she just hadn’t been able to admit her humiliation to her brother. Malfoy had _used_ her in an attempt to obtain WWW secrets, and it was mortifying how quickly she had jumped into his bed once he’d admitted to an attraction.

She should have known better than to believe his Witch Weekly interview. No doubt the interviewer had written her article to frame Malfoy in a more sympathetic light. Rita Skeeter’s name hadn’t been on the byline, but that didn’t mean Ginny could trust the publication not to be biased in Malfoy’s favor, especially if any money had exchanged hands.

“I’ll tell you what he’s up to,” Ginny said. She shifted through the contents of her desk drawer until she found the crumpled parchment she’d accidentally taken from Malfoy’s office. In her anger, she’d forgotten to leave it behind.

She passed the parchment to George, who read over it once and then again, brow creasing the longer he read.

“What is this?”

“I found it in Malfoy’s office. He’s developing a daydream potion similar to our Patented Daydream Charms. I confronted him about it, but it looks like he’s persisting with his thievery.”

“Thievery? This is brilliant!”

Ginny paused, wondering if she’d heard correctly or if her brother had. “What?”

George perched on the edge of the crate and ran his free hand through his hair, still scanning Malfoy’s notes but now muttering to himself as well.

“Starting with a Sleeping Draught as a base makes so much sense. Maybe Dreamless Sleep specifically? Hmm, we’d have to isolate the ingredient that suppresses dreams and figure out how to effectively add the Mugwart. Why didn’t Fred and I think of Mugwart before?”

“Before?” Ginny repeated.

George looked up. “Oh, sorry, Gin. Got lost in thought there. Yeah, so originally the WonderWitch products were just a line of love potions, and the daydream charm was going to be a potion in that line, too. But we couldn’t get the recipe right. Our test gnomes either never slept or they hallucinated while they were awake.”

Ginny closed her eyes in dismay. “You tested on the garden gnomes,” she said, deadpan.

“Well, we tested on ourselves first. When our concoctions weren’t effective on us, we figured out we’d actually brewed them too weak, so we tried them out on smaller bodies to see what would happen. After a gnome chased us around the Burrow with a butcher knife, we decided to limit our test subjects to the two of us until we were reasonably certain of success.”

Ginny didn’t even want to know the full story behind that anecdote, so she ignored it and moved on. “So the daydream potion?”

“After twenty-two failed attempts over the course of two years, we gave up on that idea and developed the charm. I think we could have used a complete NEWT-level knowledge of Potions.” He shrugged. “Too bad we dropped out of school and became successful businessmen instead.”

The outrage that had overcome Ginny when she’d first seen Malfoy’s notes slowly drained out of her (along with all the blood in Ginny’s face), replaced by a shame that had nothing to do with Malfoy’s intentions toward her and everything to do with her intentions toward him. If these notes didn’t faze George, what right did Ginny have to be upset? Still, she clung to a hope that there was something here to be outraged about and asked, “Doesn’t it bother you that Malfoy wants to copy your idea?”

Finally, George lowered the parchment and looked at his sister, turning his full concentration on her with the same intensity he might have given an alchemical problem he couldn’t figure out.

“This isn’t a copy, Ginny. It’s an adaptation. Clearly Malfoy was inspired by our ingenious work—who wouldn’t be?—but just because we have similar ideas doesn’t mean he’s copying us. Honestly, what bothers me most is that Fred and I hadn’t managed to make it work ourselves. Then I wouldn’t have to go into the messy business of trying to buy the formula off of someone else. Do you know how much money I’d have to offer a bazillionaire like Malfoy to convince him to give me the rights to his recipe?”

Ginny recognized that last question as a rhetorical one, so she didn’t answer.

“Anyway,” George continued, oblivious of Ginny’s burgeoning dismay, “do you want to go to this meeting with me?”

She didn’t. There were so many other things she would rather do than face Malfoy after accusing him of misdeeds he hadn’t committed, but she needed to apologize. Her head fell into her hands as she groaned. She’d claimed he had _seduced_ her, but Malfoy had been right—Ginny was the one who had made the first move, who had climbed into his lap and snogged him senseless. Of course he’d invited her over again after the heated exchange she had initiated!

“What’s wrong with you?” George asked, his voice rising in alarm.

She rubbed her face and sat up with a troubled shake of her head. “I’m an idiot, is all. And I may have ruined your chances at a business partnership with Malfoy.”

George crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation with an arched ginger eyebrow.

“I might have accused him of seducing me to steal secrets about WWW products.”

“What a foolish thing to accuse him of.”

“I know, and I’m sorry! I—”

George sniffed, interrupting her. “It would make more sense for Malfoy to seduce _me_ to steal WWW secrets, don’t you think?”

Ginny choked, her anxious apology getting stuck in her throat along with surprised laughter.

George grinned and winked. “Never fear, sister dear. All’s not lost yet.”

* * *

Draco had been anticipating the knock that sounded on his office door.

He had not anticipated Ginny Weasley having the gall to accompany her brother to this meeting. He did a mental check trying to remember if he had addressed his letter incorrectly. He hadn’t, which meant Ginny was an unwanted and unappreciated interloper. He frowned at her as she slunk into the office, looking just about as uncomfortable as Draco.

“You,” he said, his lip curling.

“Me,” she said sheepishly.

George offered his hand for a handshake. “George! As you know. And you’re acquainted with my sister Ginny, of course. I hear you’ve had sex.”

It was a good thing Draco hadn’t poured himself a glass of firewhisky to nurture through this meeting—as he’d first considered doing—but he and Ginny both spluttered sans liquid all the same.

“George!”

He looked at his sister with a perplexed expression. “What? Just thought we needed to get that out of the way before we begin. You two are adults; you shouldn’t tip-toe around it.”

“It was a mistake, I assure you,” Draco said with a sneer, his arms automatically crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture.

Something about Ginny’s expression fell. She winced, and at once Draco was appeased and curiously guilty.

“Hmm, yeah, you probably shouldn’t admit sleeping with a woman was a mistake to her brother.” George drifted to the workbench, eyeing the potions simmering in their cauldrons there. “I don’t care what’s gone on between you. You better treat her with respect.”

Ginny winced again. “It’s okay. I deserve it.”

George waved generally in her direction, his attention fully on Draco’s research, though Draco wasn’t sure what kind of conclusions he’d be able to gather about it without the rest of Draco’s notes, which he had made sure to lock inside a desk drawer prior to this meeting. It was clear that George was trying to give his sister and Draco a moment together, though Draco didn’t doubt he was listening intently.

Ginny turned her broomhandle-colored eyes on Draco, but he refused to be affected by them or her. He’d already been played by her once.

“Come to steal some more of my research?” he asked.

Ginny winced for the third time, and this time Draco didn’t feel badly about it. She reached into the pocket of those hideous orange robes (George was wearing the same, and Draco was certain to have a headache for the rest of the day from the onslaught) and withdrew the piece of parchment that had gone missing from the workbench a few days prior.

She handed it to him. “I’m sorry. I was angry and didn’t realize I’d taken it until I’d arrived home.”

He accepted the page from her, and glanced over it to see if she’d altered his notes in any way, but nothing had been scratched out or added. “You admit it, then.”

“Yes.”

He looked up in surprise, never expecting a Weasley to take responsibility for their actions.

Her eyes blazed with resolve as she said again, “Yes. It was an accident, but I stole your notes. And I came here today to tell you how wrong I was and how sorry I am.”

Draco’s brow furrowed at her unnecessarily ardent apology. “It’s just a piece of parchment. You’ve returned it now.”

Ginny took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and reached for his hand. “Not just about that. I accused you of seducing me, using me, stealing from me and my brother. I was wrong about that. I was wrong about you. I rushed to an incorrect conclusion, and you can’t know how deeply ashamed I am about how I must have made you feel.”

Draco shrugged away from her. “You don’t have to worry about me. My feelings are intact.”

Her lips twitched, and he was glad when she managed to suppress her ever-present amused smile to maintain her contrite expression.

“Of course. I’m sure you haven’t thought about the things I said once since the last time I was here.”

The sarcasm was so thick in her voice, Draco’s own lips twitched, which he found irritating. Not wanting to encourage her, he turned away, stalking up to his potions to check on them even though they needn’t be attended to for another hour at the earliest.

George retreated from the workbench, keeping his distance and looking as nonchalant as possible, even though Draco could practically see his ears swivelling in his and Ginny’s direction.

Ginny came up beside Draco, her gaze intent on the side of his face. The warmth of her was palpable next to him, her scrutiny a weight, but he tried not to think about how good she’d felt in his arms or the memory of her legs wrapped around his waist. He tried to banish thoughts of her smile and her laugh, failing in the endeavor as badly as Neville in Snape’s classroom. He would never forget the look on her face when she examined the remnant of his Dark Mark and told him it didn’t matter to her, that it changed nothing. Now he questioned what she’d ever meant by that statement. Maybe he had misunderstood.

Her voice pierced the quiet of the office, but it was low enough to be masked by the bubbling of the potions.

“I reread Witch Weekly’s Bachelor of the Year feature everyday for weeks trying to reconcile the boy I’d known at Hogwarts with the man described in that article. I wasn’t sure if I’d believed a word you’d been quoted to say, but I was intrigued enough to find out. And then, given the opportunity to get to know you, I jumped to horrible conclusions with the same impulsiveness I’d displayed in my youth. I don’t expect you to forgive me, Malfoy. Maybe you’ll never want to talk to me again. But I hope you do forgive me, because I do want to get to know you. Every prickly inch of you. I’m sorry.”

Draco stared into the cauldron in front of him, where a chamomile Sleeping Draught simmered in wait for ground Mugwart to be added. He pretended he hadn’t heard a word, but he was allowing her apology to percolate in his mind before he replied.

Could he forgive her for what she’d said? Could he trust her in the future not to think the worst of him? Did he even have a right to be upset considering their history and the things Draco had done in the past?

She could have kept his notes and delivered them to her brother to manufacture a daydream potion before Draco could, preventing Draco from cashing in on their idea. Instead, she’d returned his notes and both Weasleys had come to Hogwarts to meet with him. They still didn’t know why Draco had called this meeting, but they were willing to hear him out. Ginny was willing to hear him out.

Before he could reach any sort of conclusion, Ginny stepped away, taking her warmth with her. She leaned against the wall and nodded to George, who stood up from Draco’s desk chair and joined Draco at the workbench.

“Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Draco shook his head to clear his thoughts, wiping the slate clean so he could concentrate on potions instead of bright-haired, blazing-eyed Weasleys. He retrieved the rest of his notes from his desk and returned to the potions.

“I assume you’ve heard by now, but I’ve been developing a potion that mimics the effects of your Patented Daydream Charm. I invited you here to show you my research and ask for your permission to continue.”

George frowned. “You never needed my permission for this. We’re talking about two different products. Just because the effects are similar doesn’t mean I own the idea.”

Draco waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I know that. I wanted to ask all the same.”

George rubbed his chin and examined the potions before him. “As it just so happens, I did get a peek at your notes, and I’m on board. I came here to ask you what it would take for you to sell it to me when you’re done with development.”

“Sell it to you?”

“Of course! Zonko’s may have moved its store to a new location, but I don’t need them selling a rival product to entice customers to visit them. If I want to be the number one joke shop in the country, I need to have the newest and most interesting products! If you can get this to work, I want in on it.”

Draco had always thought the Weasley twins frivolous, unserious goofs. He hadn’t been able to imagine them caring about anything or exerting any effort, not even when they’d opened their shop and it had become an overnight success in the height of the war. But he saw it now, how they’d managed to achieve that success. There was a determination and an ambition in George Weasley’s eyes that Draco could not dismiss, and even though he had not developed his potion yet, he couldn’t imagine his product in better hands.

“I can’t sell the results of my research until I’ve finished my apprenticeship, but I wouldn’t want my potion to be sold in any store but the best.”

George grinned, slow and wide just like his sister. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership, don’t you?”

* * *

The Weasleys left twenty minutes later to return to their respective shops, and Draco passed the time until dinner revising his notes with George’s suggestions and tending to his potions. He’d have to stop by the greenhouses to pick up some supplies from Neville, but that could wait until tomorrow.

He placed a hand on his grumbling stomach, wondering what was being served in the Great Hall, and then quickly dashed that thought. The house-elves didn’t serve firewhisky, but he knew at least one place that did.

The wintry November walk to Hogwarts’ gates invigorated Draco so that by the time he Apparated into Hogsmeade and entered the Hog’s Head, his blood was already circulating nicely, keeping him toasty underneath all his layers. He removed them one by one—heating charm, gloves, scarf, cloak—and stored them away. And then he wound around the tables to approach the bar, stopping next to a woman with garish orange hair sitting alone.

She looked up at the sound of his voice as he ordered a plate of the day’s special, her eyes wide in surprise.

“This seat taken?” Draco asked.

She shook her head, lips pale and pressed together.

Draco sat down and helped himself to the glass of amber liquid sitting in front of Ginny, smacking his lips after a long gulp.

“Liquid Courage?”

She shrugged. “It was recommended to me by a connoisseur of terrible brews.”

“What do you need courage for?”

Ginny laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. In front of her sat a piece of parchment and a quill, which she passed to Draco for his inspection.

“‘Things I Very Badly Want to Do But Should Not, a List by Ginny Weasley,’” Draco read aloud.

The list consisted of things like “owl Malfoy another apology,” “go to Hogwarts and ‘bump’ into Malfoy while visiting Neville,” “get uproariously drunk,” and “purchase daydream charms.”

At the bottom of the parchment was the heading “Things I Do Not Want to Do But Really, Really Should,” under which she had written a single item: “Leave Draco Malfoy alone.”

Her cheeks were flushed in embarrassment when he slid the parchment back to her, and it was Draco’s turn to smile in amusement, which of course came out looking too much like a smirk.

“Am I that irresistible?”

“You’re that good in bed.”

Draco’s grin widened at that, bolstered by Ginny stealing her drink back and chugging the rest of it down.

“Careful,” he said, “you’re going to make me think you’d be amenable to an invitation.”

“Careful,” Ginny repeated, gaze heated as she met Draco’s, “you’re going to make me think you’d extend one.”

“I could be convinced. Might take a few Liquid Courages first—on you, of course.”

Her grin brought light to her face, warming her eyes and making Draco once more think of soaring through the air as he looked at her. His heart pounded against his ribs, urging him to invite her over now, now, _now_ , but, as much as he liked Ginny Weasley, he needed to be cautious with the temperamental muscle that pumped life through his veins, especially now that he and her brother were planning to work together

Despite his jest, Draco ordered two glasses of Liquid Courage, one for each of them.

As Ginny took her glass in hand, sipping at it with a grimace, she asked, “Does this mean you’ve accepted my apology?”

“If you can forgive me for the mistakes of my youth, I think I can forgive you for a justifiable instance of mistrust.”

But she must have seen the hurt that still lingered behind his eyes, the remnant he could not mask with Occlumency, because she touched his knee—the very same knee she’d touched in his daydream the first time he’d used a Patented Daydream Charm.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco was tired of apologies. He wanted to move past this moment and on to the greater things that were in store for him. He wanted her to be there beside him to experience them.

So, fortified by his aptly-named and foul-tasting drink, he silenced her with a kiss that startled a giggle out of her.

And in that laugh he heard all of his dreams coming true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue will be posted in the next couple of weeks!


	9. Epilogue: One Year Later

  
  
**Epilogue: One Year Later**

Draco could not see the face of his bride as her father escorted her down the lavender petal-marked aisle. But that was fine. He knew inherently who wore the veil, and it wasn’t Arthur Weasley on her arm who gave her identity away.

Over the last year, Draco had purchased and used close to a hundred Patented Daydream Charms, if not more. Every single daydream had featured the same woman—the same electric orange hair, the same polished-wood brown eyes, the same amused smile.

As far as Draco’s research had been concerned, the consistency between daydreams had been a good thing. It was instantly obvious when he tested each version of his daydream potion whether or not the batch was a success because successful batches made Ginny Weasley the star of Draco’s daydreams.

So far, this was a good batch.

Sunbeams cascaded through the branches of overhanging trees, leaving a dappled pattern of light and shadow on the wedding guests staring in awe at the bride’s arrival. More than a few tears were dashed away with handkerchiefs and sleeves. Rubeus Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall openly sobbed from the third row.

Mr. Weasley delivered his daughter up to the altar and lifted her veil, kissing her cheeks as tears cascaded down his own.

And then Ginny turned to Draco, her hand offered into his, Mr. Weasley smiling proudly—with acceptance—at Draco before he returned to his seat in the front row, next to a sniffling Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled Draco’s favorite amused grin. He couldn’t help but smile back.

The ceremony passed in a blur, Draco too preoccupied staring into Ginny’s face that he missed his cue to say ‘I do,’ which garnered laughter from the guests and the bride.

And then they were descending down the aisle together, arm in arm and laughing as lavender petals rained over their heads and the light breeze set Ginny’s wedding veil to flutter.

Draco felt as light as that veil, as transparent and fluttery as the lace that framed her face. His heart pounded and though he knew this was just a daydream, it felt so _real_. And because it felt real, he couldn’t believe his good fortune that he had convinced Ginny Weasley that marrying him was a marvelous idea.

Even after pink fog swirled around them and Draco jerked back into consciousness, he still _felt_ married to Ginny, still felt incandescently happy that she made it all the way to saying _I do_.

“Look at the stupid grin on his face,” George said, his own smile wide and obnoxious.

The atmosphere of the daydream ebbed away, returning Draco to stark reality, to Ginny and George and Neville surrounding him in his sitting room at Hogwarts, all three carrying clipboards and scribbling on parchment.

“Are you alright?” Ginny asked, and Draco understood her concern. A couple months ago they’d had a setback with a bad batch of potion that had caused Draco and George to smile like deranged serial killers for two days before they’d developed a cure.

“I’m—fine,” Draco replied as he wiped drool off his face with his sleeve, though ‘fine’ wasn’t quite the right word to use.

Oh, physically he was perfect. His heart was still racing a bit, but he could feel it slowing down (which didn’t stop Neville from checking his pulse and jotting down the results). However, inside Draco felt a little uneasy. No, uneasy wasn’t the right word, either. Restless maybe. Impatient.

Ginny didn’t seem wholly convinced, but she accepted his answer.

“How long was I out for?”

George, Neville, and Ginny looked at each other, their smiles lighting up their faces with excitement.

“A whole hour!” Neville said. “You didn’t come out of the daydream once.”

Draco nodded and stood, going to the workbench that had been installed in his sitting room when the one in his office had no longer sufficed to hold all of Draco’s test batches. “Side-effects?”

Ginny read off her clipboard. “You didn’t lash out or fall asleep. Your pulse stayed pretty steady. Vacant expression and only minor drooling this time.”

He glanced into the cauldron of Test Batch #251. The lavender-colored concoction also carried an attractive lavender scent that would certainly appeal to customers more than Test Batch #249’s coriander odor.

George, Neville, and Ginny waited patiently as Draco jotted down his own notes in his research journal, and then Draco put the quill down and glanced up at his partner, his colleague, and his girlfriend.

He smirked. “I think it’s safe to conclude that Test Batch 251 is a success.”

Whoops of delight filled Draco’s sitting room as hugs were passed around. Ginny planted a celebratory kiss on Draco’s mouth that made him recall with too much clarity the wedding he had fantasized about, the life he had anticipated sharing with Ginny in his daydream. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Draco’s mouth opened to convey some message, but George squeezed between them and slapped him on the back, interrupting the moment.

“We just need to come up with a name now,” George said.

Draco waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ve had a name for ages.”

George rolled his eyes. “Not your name. The _potion’s_ name!”

“I know what you meant,” Draco said with a sneer. “The potion has a name. I’m going to call it ‘Malfoy’s Patented Daydream Elixir.’”

“Surely you mean ‘Malfoy and _Weasley’s_ Patented Daydream Elixir.’”

Draco feigned a contemplative expression, as if he were actually considering George’s suggestion. “No, I mean Malfoy’s.”

“Listen, as your most important test subject, I think it’s only right that I get—”

He ignored the rest of George’s tirade, which continued far longer than necessary. After a year of working together, he now understood when George was trying to pull his leg. His obvious attempts to annoy Draco practically rolled right off his back now.

Instead, he searched for Ginny, who had left Draco’s side and wandered back to the workbench, perusing her clipboard and comparing her notes to Draco’s research journal. She scanned the most recent entry, eyes widening as she read, cheeks flushing. She looked at Draco, shock and something else on her face. He merely shrugged at her, his smile warm and a bit apologetic.

Ginny didn’t know that this wasn’t the first time he’d daydreamed about their wedding, and she didn’t know about the ring sitting in his locked desk drawer, waiting for the perfect moment.

Unlike Draco’s daydreams, reality had a tendency not to produce perfect moments. He’d learned that excruciating lesson during the war and several times after. But here he was at Hogwarts, a Potions apprentice on the verge of mastery in his subject with a new potion ready to unveil to the world, Neville Longbottom as a reluctant friend, a Weasley on one side as a business associate, and a Weasley on the other as his lover.

Never in his wildest daydreams had he imagined his life turning out this way. As he took Ginny’s hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips, he considered…. Perhaps it was time to dream bigger.

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter! n_n

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't forgotten about The Dating Charade! I started a new job last month, and because it's been so busy there, I'm having a hard time finding the energy to write. :( I'm hoping to get back into chapter 17 soon! In the meantime, I hope this story isn't a poor consolation.
> 
>  **Noelle's Prompt 2:**  
>  **Basic premise:** Draco is an apprentice at Hogwarts (whatever subject you'd like) and Ginny runs George's new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes store in Hogsmeade. They find themselves running into each other more than they'd like at Hog's Head Inn.  
>  **Must haves:** Draco is petty and snarky, Ginny is amused by him, UST (that is resolved at some point ;) )  
>  **No-no's:** Trio bashing; HP/HG  
>  **Rating range:** Any  
>  **Bonus points:** George makes an appearance and realizes something is up between Draco and Ginny before they do; smut; Neville is a professor/apprentice at Hogwarts and him and Draco are sort of friends; Ginny drunkenly sleeps in Draco's chambers at Hogwarts once or twice (or all the time) ;)


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